


Letters at 4am

by bearshorty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, epistolary fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearshorty/pseuds/bearshorty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's four in the morning, the end of December / I'm writing you now just to see if you're better / New York is cold, but I like where I'm living/ There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening."<br/>~ Leonard Cohen, "Famous Blue Raincoat"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters at 4am

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RS Games 2013

~~Dear~~ To Sirius,

I can’t sleep. It’s the middle of the night and I’ve been awake since midnight. I went for a walk hoping to empty my whirling brain but it didn't work. It was very cold but briskly so. Whoever said that this city never sleeps was right. There is music everywhere. I keep thinking how much you would have loved it. You would probably only get back to the hotel with dawn. And there is something magical - well, Muggle magical - here at this time of year.

It is just two days after Christmas and the Christmas lights are everywhere. They twinkle and wink at me. After I went to see the Christmas Tree at the Rockefeller Center yesterday and then walked, looking at the windows of the shops on Fifth Avenue, I thought it finally felt like a true holiday. But it was even better an hour ago walking the starless moonless night in the cold, with lights for company and music echoing from houses. I keep thinking of you. I really try not to. I always do. But here, in the city we always planned to visit, I can't help it. I keep thinking of you. I want to stop.

Remus Lupin  
Sunday, December 27, 1992 4am  
New York

 

Hello again,

It seems to be a pattern, this sleepless thing. Someone across the road is playing a melody on a violin. It's the middle of the night again, it will be Monday with the sun, and a few people are still walking about. Mostly it is just snow and yellow streetlights and Bach on a violin like Mum used to like.

What would she have said if she knew I was writing to you now, in the middle of the night, after eleven years of silence? Not that you would ever read these in your prison cell. But she probably would have understood. She always liked you. I never even understood why. You, in your leather jacket, motorbike and tattoos, weren't the poster boy for parental confidence.

But you know she did. All those pies she sent - both in school and after, always making sure that you got some too. Even after you...even after that, she wouldn't hear any words against you. When our neighbour would start going about "that Black traitor," she would not let him go on at all and speak badly of you. Or when I did - she wouldn't let me speak badly of you either. And I did rage for a while. Still now, too, occasionally. But Mum wouldn't let me. She hated how I was for those few years after you went to Azkaban, and she welcomed me when I finally came to stay with her. I don't know if I would have survived then if not for her.

And now I can't sleep, thinking of her and, lately, thinking of you even more. She suffered so much at the end. When death came, it was a relief to her. I know it. I know it but sometimes I just miss her so much. It felt like that final person who was in my corner leaving me, like James and Lily and Peter and Pa and even you. I feel so alone in the world. Except now in this city, where I think of you, because New York was always a place we were going to go together. All our plans. But Mum made me promise to go, after she would finally rest and she left me money just for the trip. So here I am.

I was in the Met today (yesterday by now) - the Metropolitan Museum of Art - just wandering around. I liked the Christmas Tree on the ground floor. And I kept hearing you explaining paintings to me, the ones in the Medieval section. And most of all, I could feel you with me in the Greek and Roman Wing. Remember when Mum showed us that book of Greek and Roman art, when you came to stay the summer after the sixth year for a few weeks? We read it by the pond and you wanted to see it all in person. You never showed that side of yourself to James and Peter. Were you always like that? Having a side that none of us saw - not even me. I think I'm livid at the idea that I didn't really know you. Not like I thought I did. It's been eleven years and I still ask myself why. Isn't it sad? This is useless. I need to sleep.

Remus  
Dec 28,  
1992 3:30am  
New York

 

Hi Sirius,

I can't get away from you, can I? I was in Central Park this lovely Monday morning and there were people ice skating. The cheesy songs were playing and I kept thinking of that winter in seventh year when you dragged me to the Great Lake in the middle of the night. We took James' cloak and snuck out, all because you wanted to go skate on the surface. And then we made snow angels by the shore. I hadn't thought of that night in such a long time. I didn't let myself until this morning, staring at all the skaters.

You were spontaneous and excited about the flat you had just bought. You kept telling me how much fun we'd have there once we graduated. And we did. I was grateful for a place to stay and you smacked my head and told me not to doubt anything that, of course, I could count on you and that we had to stay together. When I decided to be spontaneous today and go ice skating too, it was like all that happiness of that night, where I felt my heart bursting; all that happiness filled my heart again. How I wish that future you painted for us could have come true.

You know, I came to terms with Lily and James and Peter's deaths and how you caused that but I'm still angry when I think of the future we were supposed to have. Isn't that selfish of me? You turn out to be a Death Eater and a traitor and all I could think about, think about still, is that I lost a future and all our plans.

Mum thought that was because with you I felt like at least I got to have something real, something true. She would often tell me that nothing lasts. When she lost Pa, she often said that she got time with him and for that she was grateful. And she was happy that I got to have some time and happiness too, with you. I miss her so much, Sirius. I thought I was ready for her to die; she was sick for so long. But I don't think I was ever ready.

I went to a concert tonight. Just a guy on a piano playing classical music. Some Chopin. Some Beethoven. Some Brahms. How you used to play. There are too many memories in this city. It doesn't matter that I was never here before. I'm still mad at you, that we are not here together like we planned as kids, but I miss you too. Mum always said that it was alright if I did but I never believed her before. I think I’m alright with it now.

Remus  
Dec. 29, 1992 4:15am  
New York

 

Dear Sirius,

I actually managed to sleep the last couple of nights. I think I'm getting used to the city noise here. I've been away from big cities for so long that it took me awhile. But it is New Year's Day - 4am on New Year's Day and I just got back from the Times Square celebrations.

I still remember how hard it was for James and Peter and you to understand the point of the Times Square ball drop after I told you about watching it on the telly in our first year. You all didn't think it was sophisticated and magical and were baffled at Muggles gathering to watch it. But being here is so very magical. Just the energy of the crowd and the feeling of hope. Maybe 1993 will be a good year for me. At least, I'm starting it on a very good note.

I was picturing you with me as the ball dropped, giving me a kiss at midnight and it surprised me that the idea wasn't painful to me. I thought of the way you were, of the plans we had, of the joy you gave me for a while and I don't hate you anymore for taking it away. I still don't know how you changed or whether I just didn't see it. It was probably your brother's death, and then your father's, and I was too busy to notice. But I can't do the "what if" anymore.

I think I understand now what Mum meant when she said that I had to cherish a specific time and value it despite anything else that happened. Just because you changed doesn't mean everything that came before was a lie. Maybe this was Mum's final gift to me - to just go on the holiday and figure that out. I can't keep hating you and hating myself for loving you still. So I forgive you. Happy New Year, Sirius.

Love, Remus  
Jan 1, 1993 4:15am  
New York

 

My Dearest Sirius,

I found these old letters that I wrote to you on on my trip to New York a few years ago. I found them this morning when I was hastily packing to leave London. They were buried in the New York guidebook I brought back with me. I should have remembered them sooner and showed them to you. I'm not sure why I never did. After all, I did pack it when I moved into this old house of your parents.

I remember wanting to show you the book when I was telling you about the trip but I think you distracted me with your wicked hands. At least I told you about New York, and you closed your eyes to pretend we were there together. I hope my meager descriptions were enough. I know you said that once the war was over maybe we could go there again, together, but I stopped indulging fantasies long ago so I'm not as disappointed now. I do wish I could show you New York because it was such a special place for me.

Now I just need to be grateful for the time we did get - that extra time that I could never imagine then. I'm grateful that I heard you play Bach again, and Mozart, as you relearned your favourite pieces after so many years without an instrument. I'm grateful for all the travel books in your parents' library and our adventures looking at all those exotic places. I'm grateful for your moods and fights and sulkiness because they always reminded me that you were real and not a product of my imagination idealizing you. I miss you so much already.

I know that we promised each other not to wallow if something happened to one of us, so I won't. I'll take all the memories instead and be grateful. Rereading all these old letters I realized that you did travel to New York with me after all, that I did spent my life with you even when we were apart. So, no matter how long I have yet to live (and I plan to live, Sirius, I do), I'm still spending it with you. I don't need to forgive you for leaving me this time, because you never will.

With all my love, your Moony,  
June 27, 1996, 4am  
London


End file.
